Lucernam
by Rielle Malfoy
Summary: Draco Malfoy has always infuriated and fascinated Hermione Granger. Then, in a moment of weakness, he offers her a look into his life through a cry for help... Is it too late for help, even from the smartest witch of the age? M for language, maybe lemons.


The sole reason I went back to the dungeon, alone, was to retrieve a godforsaken book for Potions homework. Harry's book, actually, the one that infuriated me with its un-approved short-cuts and helpful tips that always managed to get him one step ahead of me whenever we were making a potion. I was doing it as a favor, seeing as Harry was, at the time, discussing the best method with which to defeat Voldemort ,with good old Dumbledore. He was, therefore, unable to get it himself, so, the good friend I was, I offered to fetch it instead. Alone. Past curfew. In the dark of the dungeons.

Stupid, huh? That's what pisses me off the most, when I look back. How goddamn stupid I was. My one moment when I wasn't watching the logicality of my actions, the one time I relaxed a little, it would, of course, have consequences. I suppose I wouldn't be Hermione Granger otherwise.

The walk to the dungeons wasn't peachy, either. It was midwinter at Hogwarts, and the heating was as wonderful as ever: nonexistent. I got more and more cold, and the air became increasingly damp, as I journeyed closer to the dungeons. The Gryffindor robe I was wearing was only helping to a certain extent. I found myself cursing Harry for needing the stupid book.

When I reached the door to the classroom, I heard scuffling and a few muttered words from inside. That should have warned me to just turn around and tell Harry it wasn't safe, but, being Hermione, and having the insatiable curiosity I do have, I pushed the heavy door open, inch by inch.

When I peered in, my eyes were met with a rather surprising scene. The room was dark, with only one candle penetrating the shadows (though not very well), and eerily empty. Only one occupant was there, as far as I could tell; a tall, muscled figure with messy blonde hair, surrounded by books and cursing quietly, over and over. I don't recall exactly how long I just stood at the doorway, dumbly, but it couldn't have been over 30 seconds before Malfoy sensed he was being watched. He turned, and I was affronted by just how gaunt he was becoming; his face, once the picture of health and beauty, was, though still quite attractive, thin and even paler than usual; his eyes flitted around madly, reminding me of a caged wild animal.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing, you filthy little whore?" I flinched at every annunciated syllable.

He stood violently, and stalked over to me. I was paralyzed by fear, but only for a second; by the time he was within 4 feet of me, my wand was drawn and my brow furrowed.

"I don't believe you own this classroom, Malfoy. I have just as much of a right to be down here past curfew as you do." I kept my voice cold and even, trying to distract him from the frantic beating of my heart; you can't blame me for my fear. After all, he was a Death Eater.

"_Expelliarmus!" _He shouted before I could react. My senses were slowed by the shock of being threatened in what I considered home turf.

My wand flew from my hand to a place behind where he was standing, putting me in a very vulnerable state.

"Hmm, Mudblood, thought you were better than that? Well, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised—your brain can't be all that proficient with such dirty liquid pulsing through it." As he said this, he walked closer to me until he had me pushed up against a wall.

His height, being considerably larger than mine, enabled him to look down his nose at me, even more than usual.

I just stood there like a deer in headlights, one of my very few moments of utter stupidity (not unlike the one when I promised Harry I'd get that fucking book), and he leaned into me, his face mere centimeters from mine.

My heart was beating so erratically I feared it might jump out of my chest, and he could tell I was a little scared.

"I—I can help you—" I stuttered, though I'm not sure why.

"Oh yes? You understand my problems, do you? Want to aid poor little Malfoy with his little Death Eater problems? In your dreams, bitch. Even if you _did_ have any proficiency, I would never lower myself to receiving help from a little Mudblood." His words infuriated me, even more than usual.

"Fine—see if I care when you and Daddy dearest get carted off to Azkaban." I retorted, trying to smother my fear.

He pushed his face even closer to mine, and a slightly disturbing leer tainted his features.

"Shut the FUCK up, you little cunt. DON'T mention my father EVER. And don't go getting ridiculous fantasies in your head about WINNING this goddamn war either."

I shrunk back.

"Don't worry, whore, you have nothing to be afraid of—yet. You may be a Mudblood, but you're a fine piece of ass, and I'm not done having fun with you. No need to kill you before I get a little use, eh?" He whispered satanically into my ear.

I closed my eyes as tightly as possible, expecting a hand to up my skirt, but nothing happened, and when I re-opened them, he was gone.

The rest of that night was a blur. In my hysterical state, I managed to get my stuff and Harry's book, but I practically sprinted back to the common room, left the book in the agreed hiding place, and immediately retreated to my dorm. After I readied myself for bed rather hastily, I retreated to my bed. My attempts at sleeping were fruitless. I began shaking uncontrollably, and the image of Draco Malfoy sneering down at me, expressing his interests in me, would not leave my mind.

The next morning, I awoke from tortured dreams in a groggy, angry, and slightly flustered mood. I was still rather shaken from the events of the previous night. Getting ready for the school day took longer than usual, as my shaking hands were not the best tools with which to wash and dress myself. By the time I reached the Great Hall, most of the other students had already started to head to their classes, including, to my relief, Harry, Ron and Ginny. I didn't need prying questions at this point in time. I grabbed a muffin and a banana from the Gryffindor table to munch on on my way to Potions. It hit me when I walked into the door that I shared this class with the slimy, slithering Slytherins. Joy. With a scowl on my face, I shuffled over to my seat next to Harry, and tried to ignore Malfoy's comments about the purity of my blood.

"Ho-hum, class, today we'll be switching things up a little!" Slughorn beamed as he said this, even as almost every single pupil in the class groaned.

"I will be sorting by proficiency in my class, so that the slower students will be able to move at their own pace, and the faster ones will be able to excel if they so wish. Alright, here we are," he boomed as he pulled a sheet presumably containing the seating chart from his desk, "McLaggen, with Ms. Parkinson; Crabbe, with Ms. Bulstrode; Potter, Zabini; Goyle, Thomas; Weasley, Pucey; Longbottom, Ms. Brown; Ms. Patil, Finnigan; And finally, Ms. Granger, you're with Mr. Malfoy." Nobody moved an inch.

"Now, class, you're all a little upset about being separated from your chums, I'm sure, but it's for the best!" He laughed, his smile started to falter.

We weren't convinced.

"Alright. Class, move, NOW. Do I have to involve Professor McGonagall, or maybe Professor Snape?" This threat was, apparently, enough motivation.

Everyone scattered to their respective seats, but I did not move. My attempt at avoiding my horrible fate proved fruitless, though; Malfoy sauntered over and sat next to me dramatically. I scooted as far away from him as my chair permitted, and hunched over. Probably some sort of defensive reflex.

"Now, class, if we could continue, we're going to practice making a Beautification Potion. If you could please turn to page 486…"

I found a piece of paper obstructing my view of the page when I looked down. Opening it, I scowled when I realized its sender was the wonderful Malfoy.

_You could do with a little of that potion, hmm, Mudblood?_

Normally, it wouldn't warrant a reply, but I found it tempting.

_**Fuck off, Malfoy. Maybe try some of it yourself. And weren't you the one wanting so badly to get into my pants, man-slut?**_

_Was that a promise? And I was only joking, bitch. You know I'd fuck you in a heart beat._

I barely resisted the urge to hex him to oblivion, and decided that the lesson was much, much more important than anything he could ever have to say, even if I knew how to make this particular concoction with my eyes closed.

Slughorn was taking an infuriatingly long amount of time to explain, probably in an attempt to let the Slytherin dumbasses actually learn something. My thoughts wandered to other things, mainly worrying about Harry and wondering why I put up with Ron. My mindless musings were interrupted by a large hand resting on my thigh.

"_What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"_ I hissed at Malfoy.

"_Having my fun, Mudblood. I can make you squirm."_ He replied smoothly, and I almost laughed.

His hand slid further up, wandering dangerously close to my center. Though I would never admit it, he made me shiver.

"_Are you nervous?"_

"_In your fucking dreams."_ I snarled, and pinched his hand. He pulled away quickly.

"Actually, yes," he said in a low voice that he made sure only I could hear, "Want me to show you?"

I scooted even farther from him, a puzzled expression on my face.

Why was he doing this? To me? Didn't he have his little Slytherin play toys for this shit? And why was I reacting so strangely? The normal Hermione would have violently requested new seating arrangements, and Malfoy would already have been castrated by now. I didn't know why, or how, even, but I found myself strangely attracted to Draco Malfoy—his personality repulsed me, and I knew he was dangerous, but I felt the need to try saving him. I remembered his days of innocence. Hell, I remember when we all still had that long-forgotten thing… I had convinced myself over the years that I could make Malfoy good, light, with me. I convinced myself it wasn't wrong to want to save somebody who despised you because of your heritage. If any of my friends knew any of this, I would be ostracized, but I had mulled over the possibility of 'saving' Malfoy many times; the thought would not, could not, escape my mind.

Potions class went by quickly, as did the rest of the day; at that time, none of the teachers were pushing us very hard, probably because of not only the stress we all were in but because of the immense fear of what to come that resided in every single one of us, no matter what side we were on.

I found myself in the library, as per usual, after I finished all of my homework in record time. Its silence and knowledge comforted me, even in the worst of times. I knew that no matter what happened, my books would always be there, telling me the truth, not judging me for anything, not even my blood.

I was reading a particularly intriguing book on the habits of Northern European magical creatures when the hairs on the back of my neck informed me I was being watched.

When I turned, I found my eyes facing books, and books only. I appeared to be alone in my little alcove, yet I still found my heart pumping erratically. My hand rested on my wand, and I pretended to go back to reading my book, but I was watching my surroundings out of the corner of my eye, flinching at the slightest noise.

After a few seconds, a lean, tall figure emerged from the shadows. It appeared to be none other than Draco fucking Malfoy. I stood quickly and pointed my wand at him, taking no chances this time.

He then did something that left me speechless. He dropped his wand to the floor, let it roll towards me, and held his hands up submissively. When I studied him closer, I saw that his cheeks had the tell-tale signs of a recent fit of crying; his eyes were red and bloodshot, and tear tracks stained his porcelain cheeks. His hair was even messier than usual, and the bags under his eyes were even more pronounced than they had been in our last after-school encounter.

"Please, Granger. I need help… You said you could help me, please…" He sobbed, then he gave me one pleading look, and collapsed to the floor.

I rushed over to him, disregarding my hate for him and letting myself become the worrisome, caring person I really was—no matter who I was caring about. He was sobbing wretchedly, his back shaking uncontrollably, and for the first time ever, I saw him as vulnerable. He was fragile, like any other human being.

"Shh, shh… You want me to help?" I whispered soothingly.

Even as I comforted him by holding him and rubbing his back, my conscience was in turmoil. Part of me saw this as my opportunity to save Draco Malfoy, but the other, more logical part, recognized that this was Draco Malfoy, not some lost puppy in need of my help. This was the boy, no, man, who had taunted me ever since he learned my last name, who had disregarded my talents on the basis of my ancestry, who had even insinuated he would rape me when he felt like it. I still found myself sitting there, rubbing his back, whispering sweet nothings in my attempt to calm him.

"M-Malfoy… What happened?" I stuttered, unsure how to speak to him without sending him into another fit of hysteria.

He only cried harder in response. His cries weren't that of a normal upset teenager. They were deeper, harsher, cries of a person who had seen more turmoil than one should see in a lifetime. His eyes looked pained, and when she looked into them she saw that he had witnessed things no person should ever have to witness. He took a deep breath, and started talking.

"Blaise tried to poison me." I gasped in shock, but he continued. "I think he was pressured into it by his parents, but I just thought that this friendship meant _something _to him. The Dark Lord is hurting my mother, because I'm failing his mission… My father is still in Azkaban, and even from there, he sends me letters, ridiculing my failure and blaming me for the maiming of my mother. I fear for her life. Every day, my deadline draws closer… And my arm hurts _so much_… Everyone feels sorry for Potter, with his ugly scar, but the ugliness and pain is _nothing, NOTHING _compared to the Dark Mark… I'm cursed, damned to live the life of a cold-blooded killer the rest of my life. And I'm NOT a killer… I can't kill him, I can't, I can't, I can't…" My brain was numb.

Why was he opening up to me like this? I could only conclude that whatever had driven Draco Malfoy to confide in me, Hermione Granger, a 'lowly mudblood', it must have been bad.

"I-I understand that you must feel—" I started, but was interrupted immediately.

"NO, Granger. There's no FUCKING way you understand. I don't want your sympathy, damnit, I need your help!" He sounded so, so frustrated, and I couldn't help but try to think about what exactly he meant.

"MAYBE if you told me WHAT I'm meant to help you with, I could TRY." I said, getting angry myself at his snappish response at my attempted help.

This only prompted more anger, apparently, because more silent tears rolled down his face.

"My mission… Help me get away from it… From everything… Please, I can't do it…" He gasped out, and he sounded so small, so vulnerable, that I had an urge to just put him away and keep him from this horrible world that was doing this to him, to all of us.

"You… Want to come to the other side?" I asked softly, still holding him.

"No. I want… Hell, I don't know. Yes, I suppose that's what I want. What other options do I have?"

I didn't answer his most important question. I, the smartest witch of my age, could not tell him what other options he might have had in this horrible situation. There probably were none. My heart ached for him, this boy who had tortured me for 6 years of my life. Life was as unfair to him as it was to me, or even Harry, but no-one looked past his defensively cold demeanor to see the injustice. I think he understood the silence, awkward at first though it was. Just to have someone else who knew, to have someone else whose innocence was tainted by his story, was enough for him. I don't know how long we just sat there in each others arms, my eyes staring into the distance and his tears rolling down his beautiful face, but it couldn't have been a short time. My legs were starting to numb when he got up slowly and gently, picked me up with him. He gave me a look that explained everything, that this little talk couldn't mean anything and that I probably shouldn't even attempt helping him.

I waved, and then he was gone.

For a few days, life trudged on as normally as was possible for me. I would wake up, get breakfast, go to classes, maybe talk with Harry or Ginny or watch Quidditch practice, and then I would go back to the Library, hoping in a disturbed way that _he _might return. The glances Dra—Malfoy would send to me, and I to him, were the only evidence that anything had changed, but it was evidence enough. The things looming ominously in the future—NEWTS, leaving, and the approaching war that none could escape—were still at bay, for now, and I savored every moment.

I didn't even talk to Malfoy until a week later. Hell, I barely acknowledged his existence, besides the glances I would throw his way, and it was suiting the both of us fine. Neither of us needed another issue to plague our already dark thoughts. As much as we tried to stay away from each other, bumping into each other was inevitable—and we happened to do just that on a gray afternoon by the lake.


End file.
